


off to the races

by suethor



Category: DC Cinematic Universe, Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: Everything is Fine AU, F/M, Fast and Furious AU, I guess???, Modern AU, There's a lot of cars and guns and stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 13:54:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11186499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suethor/pseuds/suethor
Summary: Sometimes, the men - they come with keys.And sometimes, the men - they come with hammers.





	off to the races

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mimima](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mimima/gifts).



> tw: guns, mentions of domestic abuse, mentions of alcoholism, violence

MOTHER SAYS THERE ARE LOCKED ROOMS INSIDE ALL WOMEN; KITCHEN OF LUST, / BEDROOM OF GRIEF, BATHROOM OF APATHY. / SOMETIMES, THE MEN – THEY COME WITH KEYS, / AND SOMETIMES, THE MEN – THEY COME WITH HAMMERS.  
-Warson Shire

* * *

  
Diana’s been driving so long that it almost feels as natural as breathing. 

The flex of her fingers gripping the wheel, the engine roaring beneath her, the screeching of tires against the track. It’s all second nature to her now. After all--it’s been sixteen years since her Aunt Antiope snuck her out of the house and set her down behind the wheel of an old mustang and first taught her the ins and outs of racing. 

It’s all second nature--until Steve Trevor enters the picture. He’s nothing like she’s ever seen before. 

* * *

  
Diana has a _policy_. And that is: the only men in her life are the ones she races down the street. Her father abandoned her mother as soon as he found out that Hippolyta was pregnant. She’s been raised by her mother, Antiope, and a slew of female racers driving far, _far_ away from their pasts. Diana likes the comfort of a family of women. These are her sisters--some of them are ex-cons who are trying to find their place in society, some of them are family friends, some of them runaways. 

But this peace has been maintained for too long. Something is about to tear up her picture-perfect life. 

That something is a mob boss named Ludendorff. 

Diana’s sisters know better than to trust a man. They still when he shows up at one of their races, smiling like a cat looking straight into the eyes of its prey. 

“What’s the story here?” he asks. 

Antiope is already balling her hands up in fists, the muscles running up her arm tightening at his words. It’s not a threat—not on paper. But in the flesh? It’s terrifying. 

“I’ve never seen a race of just women, before,” he remarks, noting Antiope’s stance and smirking. 

Hippolyta steps forward. “What do you _want?_ ” she demands. 

Diana’s heart thuds with worry. She knows what danger looks like—according to most of her sisters, it’s a man. One with a fist. One with a knife. One with a bottle of beer and swaying steps. 

One with a gun. 

“We want this area back. It’s _our_ part of town.” 

Hippolyta tilts her chin upwards. Raises an eyebrow, unflinching, unwavering. “Or what?” 

Diana’s sisters have told her what danger looks like: screaming, bloodshot eyes, waving a weapon around carelessly and _berating_ and bruises blooming like horrifying, monstrous flowers. 

Ludendorff is none of these things. He smiles sharply, looking pristine and concentrated. Every move is attached to an intention. 

It’s like slow motion: Diana can see every detail—she’ll _keep seeing them_ every time she closes her eyes for _years_ —but she can’t move. Can’t stop it. 

He reaches for his waist and retrieves a gun. Aims it at Antiope’s chest and fires. 

“I’m rather accustomed to getting what I want,” he tells Hippolyta. “It’s up to you how that happens.” 

Nobody moves for a split second, and Diana thinks that it might not have been real, that maybe she’s hallucinating, or dreaming, but then Antiope collapses next to her, and she’s falling to her knees and cradling her aunt’s head in her lap. 

“ _No_ ,” she sobs. There’s blood pooling onto her own fingers, and it’s sticky and warm, and she wants to forget, wants to shut her eyes and wake up yesterday and tell her mother that they should just stay inside. 

Hippolyta collapses next to Antiope. She’s crying, and Diana’s jarred because her mother does not cry. Her mother purses her lips or hyperventilates, but she hasn’t cried in Diana’s entire life. 

“Antiope. Antiope?” 

There’s chaos raging around them as dozens of women hurl themselves towards Ludendorff’s men, fists raised up before coming crashing down, over and over, relentless and unforgiving. 

But no amount of blood will put life back into Antiope. That requires something impossible. 

* * *

  
They bury her the following Sunday, dressed in navy and black and attire not _quite_ as formal as a funeral usually requires. 

Hippolyta speaks. It’s eloquent, as a leader should be, Diana notes, but she’s crying so hard, staring blank-faced at Antiope’s casket as the tears roll down her face, and she can’t actually remember what any of her mother’s words were. 

They place flowers on her grave. They bury her with a switchblade. 

It’s what Antiope would have wanted. 

* * *

  
A week later, another man appears in their garage. Diana and her sisters won’t make the same mistake again. Before he can get a word out, there’s the flick of a switchblade, the cocking of a pistol. Only, this man is not looking at them like a predator. He’s got gentle blue eyes like the sea, hands raised up in surrender. 

“W _hoa!_ ” he exclaims, when someone jabs a gun at his chest. “My car broke down,” he says. “I need help.” 

Nobody moves. 

“Do you know Ludendorff?” 

He open his mouth, hesitates. “I…yes.” 

Someone grabs the lapel of his jacket and drags him towards the back of the garage. Another flips the sign from _**OPEN** _ to _**CLOSED**_. 

“What’s your name?” 

He winces. “It’s complicated.” 

Diana’s got her arms folded across her chest. He doesn’t look like he’s planning on hurting anyone, but she bites her tongue. 

“I’ll uncomplicated it,” Helena snaps. She pushes a magazine into her gun. “What’s your _name_?”

The man takes a brief look at the barrel of the gun, then stares Helena directly in the eyes. “My name is Steve Trevor. I work for the FBI, I’m trying to take Ludendorff down.”  
Diana notices something on his chest. She steps forward silently, reaching forward to unzip his jacket and tear the shirt below open.  
“Wha— _hey_ ,” he protests, eyes wide in confusion and possibly slight offense. 

“He’s got their mark,” Diana says, pointing to the tattoo on his chest of a black cross. “He’s with them.” 

“ _No_ ,” Steve insists, then, more urgently when Helena reaims her gun, “nononononono,” Steve casts a glance out to the street, bright with the early afternoon sun, and then says lowly, “I’m a _spy_. I’m undercover. Look. I have my FBI badge in the car, it’s a few blocks away, it broke down.”

“You mentioned that,” Diana says. She folds her arms over her chest, then juts her chin out at Lilah. “Get his car.” 

“It’s a ’72 Chevy,” Steve offers, weakly. 

Lilah nods, nudging Maya with her elbow, and the two head outside. 

It’s silent once the bell goes quiet. Diana shares a look with a few of the girls, they look back and forth at each other, all trying to develop a plan without giving themselves away. 

“Can I ask a question?” Steve asks, breaking the silence. “Uh. Who are you people? Why are you so… _hostile_?” 

“Is he _serious_?” Helena exclaims. 

Diana agrees with her, but she also feels like Steve’s question is fair. Fair if he isn’t aligned with Ludendorff. “We’re mechanics,” she says. “And Ludendorff killed one of ours last week. He wants to start a territory war.” 

Steve grimaces. “I’m afraid it’s already started.” 

That’s got their attention. 

“Any of you heard of Isabelle Maru?” 

It sounds familiar to Diana, but she’s not sure why. “Who’s that?” she inquires. 

“She’s…” he trails off, searching for words. “She’s Ludendorff’s chief _psychopath_. They kidnap people who get in their way, and she tortures them. It’s horrible. _Unspeakable_. The agent who went in before me was… _handled_ by her.” He exhales. “I don’t tend to believe in pure evil, but if I did, she’d be it.” 

Diana shoots a look at Helena, who looks equally worried. “Get my mother.” 

* * *

  
Lilah and Maya return with his badge, his gun, a handful of case files, and a wallet. “We’re keeping this,” Maya says, pulling at least a grand out of the cash pocket. 

“Uh,” Steve starts, looking like he wants to protest. Then, he seems to remember that he’s surrounded by armed women. “Okay.” 

Hippolyta arrives. It’s supposed to be her off day at the garage, but she’s their leader. 

“He’s real,” Lilah tells her. She hands over the badge and the files, full of detailed information about Ludendorff and his history. “He’s trying to take down Ludendorff.” 

Hippolyta pulls the folder from Lilah. “I’ll determine that.” 

She reads silently for a minute. Diana makes eye contact with Steve, and they’re both searching for answers in each other’s eyes. 

“I agree,” Hippolyta announces after a minute. “He’s a real agent.” Steve exhales in relief. Though maybe, it’s too soon, because Hippolyta adds, “We will let you go, on the condition that you take one of us with you to make sure you don’t try to hurt us.” 

“Um,” he starts. “I don’t know if—”

Hippolyta ignores him. “You will also grant us immunity for assaulting an FBI agent, and you will allow us to keep copies of these files.” She smiles pleasantly. “And in return, we will fix your car.” 

Steve swallows. He looks at the gun in Helena’s hand in consideration, but then nods. “Deal,” he agrees.

* * *

  
Hippolyta wants Helena to go with Steve. Or Lilah. Or Maya. Or _anyone but Diana._

“ _Please_ , mother.” 

“No.” 

There are a million reasons why she wants to go—it’s her job, she’s not an ex-con who could risk being rearrested, she’s the _best damn driver_ in the joint. Mostly, it’s a need to avenge Antiope. She deserves justice, and Diana’s convinced herself that maybe if Ludendorff is dead, she can close her eyes and feel his blood on her fingers, instead of Antiope’s. Diana begs her mother, pesters her endlessly for two days. 

But the answer is the same each time. 

“I’ve lost Antiope,” her mother says. “I will not lose you.” 

Diana purses her lips. 

Sneaking Steve out is probably a bad decision, but it’s one that must be made. He’s still half asleep as she drags him downstairs and into his car, which she fixed yesterday with minimal effort. It’s only when the key is in the ignition that he seems to realize. 

“Wait a minute,” he says. “Are you helping me?” 

“Yes,” Diana says simply, shifting the car into reverse and backing out onto the street. She makes a sharp left but hits the brakes instantly. Hippolyta is in the street, arms crossed, with Helena and Lilah by her side. She winces, pulling up slowly and unrolling the window. “Mother,” she greets. 

“I won’t stop you.” Hippolyta says, raising a hand to stop Diana from interrupting. “But I wish you’d said goodbye.” 

And then she’s turning, walking away, back into the garage, not looking back. 

Steve is right next to her, but Diana still feels alone. 

* * *

  
They get a room in a motel outside city limits, where Steve contacts his handler—a British woman named Etta—to update her. 

She sounds exasperated. “I trust you to handle this, but we’ll both get axed if you don’t handle it _correctly_.” Thankfully, she takes a strong liking to Diana. 

They sleep on the scratchy sheets of the two beds, separated by five feet of space and an entire world. 

* * *

  
“You drive, right?” Steve asks her, the next day. “Can you be a getaway driver?” 

Diana shrugs, shoving a spoonful of Lucky Charms into her mouth. “Sure.” 

* * *

  
_It’ll be subtle,_ he tells her. _Don’t draw attention to us. I’m still undercover, I’ll just go in and it’ll be simple._

It is not simple, nor is it subtle. 

Diana is parked around the corner, and the street is mostly quiet until she notices in her rearview mirror that the building Steve disappeared into his on fire, and he’s hurtling towards her, waving his hands around and screaming. “ _Diana!_ ” he hollers at the top of his lungs. 

The car is already in reverse, backing up to meet him at the curb. He throws himself inside, and she floors it, engine roaring as she makes a sharp right. “This street doesn’t go anywhere,” he tells her. Diana tunes him out. “Diana, _wait!_ ” 

Another car is following her, and she’s still going 60 an hour towards a brick building. She’s getting closer. Closer. Closer, closer closer, and then she’s turning the wheel all the way to the left, spinning around the cul-de-sac and leaving the other car flying into the building. It bites into the brick, and then there’s a resounding _boom_ as it catches fire. 

“Whoa,” Steve breathes, still contorted in his seat to see out the rear window. “Okay. You do you.” 

* * *

  
It goes like this for a while. Steve talks to Etta, and Etta’s assistant Sammy, and his contacts—Charlie and a man ambiguously called Chief. They sleep in the same hotel room every night, scratchy sheets and all. 

Buildings burn. They never crash the car, though. Ludendorff is slowly losing his men and his hold over the west side, much to their delight. Every time she closes her eyes to sleep, she sees Antiope bleeding out, feels the blood pouring out onto the fingers. 

Diana wakes up one night to footsteps in the hotel room. She grabs the gun off the bedside table and flicks on the light, out of bed and unsetting the safety. But it’s only Steve.  
He takes a look at her bare legs, before he can tell himself not to. Diana’s been sleeping in a shirt and her underwear, mostly, because July is encroaching upon them.  
“Sorry,” she says, setting the safety again and setting the gun down. “You surprised me, is all. Where did you go?” 

“Grocery store,” he says, leaning over and emptying the contents of his bag into the mini fridge built into the chest of drawers. He turns around, and Diana’s still standing there. Nobody’s ever taught her to hide her legs, to be ashamed of her skin, and Steve’s eyes are appraising. “Ah—” he starts. “Do you wanna go for a swim?”  
Diana can’t swim, but she nods. “Okay.” 

* * *

  
The pool is the embodiment of relief. The cool water glides up and down her legs as she stands in the shallow end, trying to keep her balance. She’s wearing a tee shirt and shorts, since she didn’t really think to bring a swimsuit on her way to escape the garage. 

Steve lies on his back in the deep end, floating and looking up at the stars. “My father was a soldier,” he tells her. 

Diana looks at him, but he’s not making eye contact. 

“He was killed in action in Vietnam. He wanted me to be a soldier.” 

“Did you?” 

“At first. But I’m a better spy.” Steve rights himself, so that he’s treading water. “What about your father?” he asks, clearing his throat. 

“I don’t know who he is and I don’t care to know,” she states simply. 

“Do you have a, uh…are you dating anyone?” 

Diana raises a brow, sinking underwater until it’s up to her neck. “No.” 

“I see,” he mumbles, looking away. 

“Steve?” 

“Yep?” 

“I can’t swim.” 

He looks over at her. “Oh.” 

Diana’s heart is racing. She feels like they’re on the edge of a cliff, tilting, leaning and waiting to fly. 

“Are you dating anyone?” she asks. 

“No,” he answers. He floats towards her, lying on his back. Diana rises to her full height. “You’re something, Diana,” he mumbles, pushing himself towards the stairs and sitting down on the lowest one. 

“And what’s that?” 

He peers at her quizzically. 

“You said I’m _something_. You could be saying I’m terrible, for all I know.” 

Steve laughs and stretches his hand out. She accepts, and he brings her hands up to his lips, laying a reverent, open mouthed kiss onto each of her knuckles. The stubble of his beard scratches the skin in a way that’s pleasant, in a way that makes her mind wander. 

Diana aches in her core. She wants him. She tells him so. 

Steve looks up at her, pupils blown, completely fucking consumed. She glides forward, slinging her arms around his neck. They’re staring at each other, and then he’s leaning forward, slanting his mouth over hers. Diana arches into the touch until her knees are bracketing his hips. She wants more, more _more_ , and then they’re rubbing the water droplets off their bodies with the ratty motel towels and stumbling upstairs and collapsing on the bed. Diana wants more. He gives it to her. 

* * *

  
After that night, they mostly sleep in the same bed. Sometimes they have sex, sometimes they just rest, taking comfort in each other. Diana wishes she could tell her mother. She wants to know what Hippolyta would think of it. 

The only other boy Diana’s had a relationship with—if it can even be called that—was Theo Rutgers, a posh kid with a dozen cars to crash, who didn’t care about anything. Not his reputation, not his life, and certainly not Diana. When she found his obituary in a newspaper, citing his cause of death as a heroin overdose, she wasn’t surprised. She did not mourn him. 

After that, she’d mostly dating women. Nothing ever stuck—either it was bad timing or they went away to college or they wanted her to stop driving and Diana always felt lost in love. Like she was melting away. 

With Steve, it’s different. They’re in sync. It’s been fifty-four days since they started working together, but he knows what takeout to order for her and she can read his movements in a fight. It goes in unison.  
But like all the things in Diana’s life that are going smoothly, of course it’s derailed. 

* * *

  
Steve is recovering from a particular bloody fight and he doesn’t want to go back to the motel just yet, so Diana is driving too fast down the freeway, wind in her hair. They’re quiet, but not uncomfortable. 

The last of the sun clings to the horizon, leaving the sky yellow and blue and the stars almost visible. 

There are three bullets: 

One: Her tire is blown out. Diana curses and turns the wheel sharply, trying to keep from losing control of the car. 

“Sniper,” Steve realizes. “ _Shit_.” He’s looking around wildly, but the car is spinning too much for him to know where the bullet came from. They’re off-balance, one side lower, leaving them at an awkward angle. 

Diana is nothing if not persistent. She floors the gas anyways. The sound of the wheel dragging across the cement is grating against her ears, shrieking. It’s an accurate representation of what Diana _wants_ to be doing. 

_Focus,_ she tells herself. 

“They’re coming,” Steve says. He’s gripping the handle on the door with white knuckles. When she checks the mirror, Diana sees another car—an old convertible—carrying two teenage boys and Ludendorff. One of the boys is standing up in the backseat, holding a gun and aiming. 

Panicking, she starts weaving to avoid losing another tire. They’re already screwed, as is. 

Diana knows she could make a turn let Ludendorff crash into them—but then she and Steve would also die. 

Two: Another shot goes off, shattering the window, and there’s the unmistakable sound of bullet meeting flesh. She watches Steve slump forward in his seat with a groan. 

” _Steve_?” she calls. She’s panicking, and it’s making it hard to control the car. “Steve, _please_ , don’t—oh my god, Steve.” He’s gripping the spot the bullet hit—the right side of his chest. That means it missed his heart at least. 

The car starts to give up underneath her, and Diana curses. She slams onto the breaks, turning. There’s nowhere to run. She needs to fight. 

Diana pulls the gun from Steve’s belt. “I love you, you know,” she tells him, before slamming the door and stepping out onto the highway. She can’t cry. Not yet. Not until Ludendorff is dead. 

She cocks the gun and marches towards Ludendorff’s car, which is now careening towards her. Diana fires at the front tires. The car sinks to the ground and rolls to a stop. “How about a _fair fight, you coward!_ ” she screams. 

Ludendorff’s bellowing laugh reaches her, carried by the wind. He pushes the passenger door open and steps outside, with a loaded gun. 

“Hello, darling,” he says. 

Three: Diana fires. It hits him in the forehead, and he crumples to the ground. She starts towards the boys, not wanting to kill them, but also not wanting to let her guard down.

They’re already abandoning the car, hopping over the highway divider and fleeing. 

Diana takes a breath. She feels free. 

* * *

  
That night, at eleven, Diana meets FBI Agent Etta Candy for the first time. She’s running into Steve’s hospital room in a frenzy, followed by a short, dark-skinned man. “This boy is always getting himself into trouble,” she chides. 

When Etta notices Diana, she perks up slightly. “Nice to finally meet you,” she introduces. “So you’re the one who’s been keeping Agent Trevor alive.” 

Diana casts a wary look at his unconscious body, hooked up to a dozen tubes and wires. “Trying my hardest,” she says. 

It seems that the other woman can sense her guilt, so she pulls Diana down into a chair and assures her, “It’s not your fault. What matters is that you took Ludendorff down. Do you know how many lives you saved?” 

_Not enough._ But Diana smiles softly. “I guess so.” 

* * *

  
Two weeks later, Steve wakes up. Etta’s the one with him when it happens, and Diana’s at home with her mother updating her on everything that’s happened. Hippolyta is proud, and yet full of sorrow at the same time. 

Then the phone rings. 

Hippolyta reaches over for it. “Amazon Mechanics, can I help you?” She raises an eyebrow as the person on the other end of the line speaks. “Mm-hmm. Yes.” To Diana, she says, “He wants to talk to you.” 

“Diana?” Sammy says. “Steve is awake.” 

* * *

  
The ride to the hospital is a blur. Hippolyta drives her, claiming that Diana’s had enough, and then she’s running down the halls she spent so much time pacing she has memorized, and bursting into the room, and crying and grabbing Steve’s hand, and saying his name like a prayer. “Oh god,” she says. “Oh my god, Steve. _Steve_.” 

He laughs, hoarsely. “So what’s this I heard about you loving me?”

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: I don’t even have a driver’s license and I only saw the 7th fast and furious movie but I tried!


End file.
